


Domino Milkshake - Side orders

by SilenceoftheLlamas



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, death mention, fall of praxus, improper use of a bunsen burner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheLlamas/pseuds/SilenceoftheLlamas
Summary: The extra bits I either couldn't squeeze into Domino milkshake, or decided not to use.Tags to be updated as pieces are added!
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62
Collections: Loose Shanix





	1. Gummy Goodies

**Author's Note:**

> & onto the ideas I didn’t use! Timeline for these is wonky – please enjoy these as oneshots/slices/alternate universes where I managed to squeeze them in. You’ll probably guess by reading, but there’s one that’s meant to come before this, I just so happened to get this one done first. Take the little drips of information as a teaser!

Prowl hadn’t seen Jazz in a few hours, which would usually be quite normal, however recently he had taken to hovering over him like a worried creator, so to look up from his datapad and see that he was alone was very strange indeed.

He gritted his teeth as he stood, doorwings still sore, the gauze and stitches pulling on the delicate metal in ways that made his sensor net ignite most unpleasantly. His thigh twinged, the pain medication beginning to wear off. He’d have to find the package and administer another one.

But first: Jazz.

He left his quarters, wondering where to go first. In any other circumstance he’d just stay there and wait for him to come back, as he was likely off fetching energon or grabbing something from his quarters, but Jazz had been gone far, far too long for that.

He’d been given a number to call if Jazz had disappeared, but he really didn’t want to get Jazz into trouble. So hunting it was.

Jazz, Jazz, Jazz. Where could he have gotten to? Perhaps his quarters?

Prowl hobbled on over, wincing every few steps. Thank the stars, he didn’t encounter anyone – Jazz would have been so screwed if the wrong person spotted him – but the closer he got the stronger the smell of something _burning_ was.

Perhaps this was what was keeping Jazz?

He knocked on the door and cautiously called out. “Jazz?”

A squeak. Ah. Jackpot.

The door slid open slightly, allowing Prowl just a slither of Jazz’s bright visor and frame, and not much else. The smell of burning became infinitely stronger, smoke beginning to swirl out of the gap above Jazz’s helm.

“… Do you need help?”

“… Please.” Jazz opened the door with a sigh, Prowl fighting the urge to violently cough at the sudden onslaught of smoke. “Ah really fragged these up.”

“What are you trying to do?” Prowl asked, limping over the threshold and closing the door. No point in attracting any more attention or, god forbid, Red Alert. He’d have been on them like a hound from hell if he thought they were up to anything.

Jazz mumbled something in reply, pressing his index fingers together in front of him and looking down at the floor.

“What?” Prowl knelt down, ignoring how his thigh complained. “Hang on,” Prowl picked up a box, peering at the insides, optics brightening considerably. “Are these gummies?”

“Meant ta be.” Jazz sighed, kneeling down to try and clear some of the mess he’d managed to make in the middle of the room. “Really didn’ go too well, Ah was gonna throw them ou- oh no, please don’ eat that!”

Too late. Prowl had already popped one into his mouth, doorwings twitching and flicking despite the painful twinges the action caused. “These are good!” He took another, curiously nibbling at it. “Very interesting texture.”

“Ya don’ have ta sugar coat it, Prowler.” Jazz’s helm fell in defeat.

“No, I’m being serious. I like these.” He popped the rest of it into his mouth, happily chewing at he regarded the rest of them. “I think Bluestreak would love these. May I?”

“Ya wanna send them to him?!” Jazz balked at him.

“Of course.” Prowl’s doorwings flicked. He glanced at the still smouldering remnants of what he assumed used to be another batch of goodies. “How about this; if I help you clear this up, and not ask any questions as to where you even got the equipment, these are mine.”

“They were gonna be for ya anyway.” Jazz huffed, turning back to attempting to scrape burned gummies from the floor. “To say sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?”

Jazz glanced at his thigh. “Ah’m lucky Ah didn’ hit anythin’ important.”

“I’d have done the same.” Prowl replied, placing the box to the side and making to help Jazz clear up. “And I use acid pellets. That would not have been pleasant for you.”

“Doesn’t make it okay.”

“I’d much rather you shoot me than be captured.” Prowl firmly replied. “That’s enough of that, anyway, we’re just going to go in circles again. Let’s get this packed up, I want you to show me the recipe. We can try and make this together.”

* * *

Smokescreen looked at the offered goodie with trepidation.

“Did you make this?” Smokescreen asked, leaning away in fear.

“No. They were a gift.” Prowl replied. Smokescreens worries bled away, and he happily accepted the goodie and gave it a curious sniff.

“Who from?” Smokescreen asked, taking a bite.

“Jazz. He made them.”

“Hmm.” Smokescreen replied, carefully chewing. “Bluestreak would be all over this.”

“That’s what I said. He didn’t believe me.”

“Are you going to be sending any to him?”

“I have the box waiting for me to take it to the post office in my quarters.”

“Hold that, I have something I want to send too. We can make a care box for him.”

Later that decacycle found the two carefully packing a small box for Bluestreak, Prowl placing the box of Jazz’s goodies in a well protected area. Wouldn’t want them to be crushed now, did we?

* * *

Bluestreaks reply was long, as always. Prowl and Smokescreen patiently waited for him to finish, doing their best to look interested.

“And-and! Those goodies!” Bluestreaks optics lit up from where he was sat cross legged on the floor of his bedroom. “They’re so good! Prowl, please please please thank Jazz for me they were so delicious I’d love it if he could make me more or is that rude of me to ask they’re just really really good-”

“Breathe, Bluestreak.” Prowl gently reminded him. “I will ask him.”

When Prowl found Jazz early the next morning, he just about died from embarrassment.

“You really sent them?” Jazz asked, face burning up. “Aahh, nooo, what am Ah gonna do...”

“He really liked them. He was so enthusiastic about them he forgot to use punctuation.”

“Well, Ah can’t leave my fans waiting.” Jazz posed with his hands under his chin. “Ah’ll see what Ah can do.”


	2. Fall of Praxus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the formatting is kinda bugged in places - I'm gonna see about fixing it tomorrow, it's just 2am and I wanna go to sleep OTL

Jazz sulked as he absently poked the cube of Energon before him.  
  
He _hated_ being on medical leave. It was _so boring_! He wasn’t allowed to do _anything_. Not even the training rooms, or patrol around Iacon! He had been confined to base, and a limited portion of it at that.  
  
“We want to be sure that virus has totally cleared from your systems.” Ratchet had explained. It made sense. Jazz knew why it was this way - if his antivirus wasn’t as effective as they thought, then they were in trouble if he was indeed bugged with anything. But _come on_!  
  
Prowl had been his saving grace. He’d accumulated some personal leave, and Bluestreak was about to have a break of his own at university. Jazz could just... go with him. Off the base, out of their hair, and have somewhere he was free to sprint around and burn off all of his excess energy. It was perfect and without flaw.  
  
Well. Jazz thought it was, anyway. Prowl had seemed somewhat apprehensive, but it wasn’t as if he could say no now, even if Jazz couldn’t sit still on the transport.  
  
“Are you sure you’ve cleared your systems?” He cautiously asked as Jazz bounced in his seat, eagerly staring out the window.  
  
“Yup!” Jazz’s feet tapped on the floor in a quick rhythm. “Ah’m just real excited, yanno? Ah’m finally going to Praxus! Ah’ve always wanted to visit, and you’ve taught me so much about it.”  
  
“Don’t stray too far from me.” Prowl replied, turning back to his datapad. “Foreigners are somewhat exotic. You’ll be attracting a lot of attention.”  
  
“Praxian’s are exotic to everyone else.” Jazz countered. “Ah could say the same to you anywhere else.”  
  
“Granted. But I speak the language.” Prowl smirked at him, a playful jab playing in his tone. “Do you?”  
  
“Meanie.”  
  
Praxus was, all things considered, surprisingly close to Iacon. The high speed transport had them there by early evening, and the pair quickly set off into the city, Prowl heading towards the hotel they’d booked, Jazz busy being distracted by anything and everything and requiring Prowl to hold onto him so as to not lose him to the crowd.  
  
Prowl checked them in while Jazz stared out of the windows at the crystals that surrounded them. He practically had his face pressed up against the glass when Prowl came to collect him.  
  
“It’s so beautiful.” Jazz said.  
  
“It is.” Prowl agreed, looking out of the window with him. “However I’m sure the view is much more impressive from higher up. Shall we?” He presented Jazz with a key card.

* * *

  
There had to have been a mistake.

  
There was only one bed.

  
Jazz hadn’t noticed yet, far too busy staring out over the city and singing to himself, but Prowl certainly had.

  
Was it worth going down to the front desk and mentioning it? But the room had such an excellent view - it was unlikely they’d have anything else quite like it, and Jazz seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself...

  
It wouldn’t hurt for just a few nights, surely?

  
The bed itself was Praxian in design, large enough to support two adult Praxian frames comfortably. It would be more than enough for himself and Jazz, the latter of whom didn’t even _have_ wings. And it wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared a bed before...

  
He swallowed hard. With Jazz that close, it would be hard to keep the unsavoury thoughts at bay. Perhaps it would be best if he employed the same tactics used in the more extremely religious groups and created a division in the bed to physically separate them?

  
Jazz flopping down right where he was staring snapped him out of the trance he’d fallen into. “What’s up?”

  
“Simply considering the recharging arrangements.” Prowl replied, sitting next to him. “I assume you’ve noticed the lack of beds already.”

  
“There are easier ways to ask for a cuddle.” Jazz teased, opening his arms in invitation and wriggling enticingly.

  
Prowl grabbed a pillow and held it over Jazz’s face.

  
“What’re ya doin’?” Jazz scrabbled to push the pillow away, Prowl ruthlessly holding firm.

  
“Silencing you.”

* * *

  
  
They’d started off that night in opposite sides of the bed. Jazz had onlined to find himself comfortably wrapped up in Prowls arms, helm resting against his chest, the beat of Prowls spark a pleasant thrum.

  
He could get used to this, he thought. Being there with Prowl, waking up with him. It was nice. Right now, he could pretend that he had woken up in the arms of his lover, the pair on a romantic getaway to a far away place.

  
But as always, good things must come to an end, and they ended when Prowl onlined his optics and immediately began to apologise, the illusion shattering.

  
Bluestreak was going to meet them that afternoon, Prowl had said, and so the pair had time to kill. Prowl had already decided what he wanted to do - grab as much Praxian polish as he could possibly carry and then some - and had said Jazz was more than welcome to join him if he so wished.

  
And that he did.

  
Jazz curiously browsed the various waxes and polishes while Prowl spoke to the clerk. They were talking far too quickly for Jazz to even attempt to try and understand the odd word here and there, but it was nice to listen to Prowl anyway. He always sounded so attractive and confident when speaking in his native tongue.

  
  


* * *

  
  
There hadn’t been any warning. One minute, things were business as usual. Mechs enjoying the good weather in the gardens, younglings playing together. Innocent neutrals going about their daily basis.

  
The next, Prowl didn’t know up from down and could only feel the fact that he was suddenly airborne and his audials had whited out with static from the sudden burst of noise overwhelming them.

  
Just seconds ago, they’d been in the gardens - Prowl was showing a part of them to Jazz on their way through the city whilst they walked to try and find a museum Jazz had spotted on a tourist brochure and was interested in visiting - but as Prowl skidded across the floor, he knew that they were no longer surrounded by crystal.

  
“Prowl!” Jazz called from somewhere in the smoke. “Where are ya?!”

  
“I’m over here!” Prowl called back, steadily pushing himself to his feet. His head spun as his doorwings were beginning to ache, but he was otherwise fine. He began walking towards where he’d heard Jazz’s voice, dust thick in the air. “Are you okay?”

  
“Ah’m fine!” Jazz called back, slowly coming into view. “Ya really went flyin’, are _yo_ _u_ okay?”

  
“I’ve had worse.”

  
“Ah hit somethin’ real solid.” Jazz replied. Now that they were closer, Prowl could see that Jazz’s visor had splintered and cracked, a spiderweb radiating across it. It had to be difficult to see.

  
“What happened?” Prowl asked as he looked out at the destruction, more rhetorical than anything else.

  
“Ah don’t know, but Ah can’t access my comms. Everything’s down.” Jazz’s lips were pressed together into a thin line. “Ah don’t think this was an accident.”

  
“Did you see anyone else in the gardens whilst we were in there?”

  
“A couple, but Ah can’t detect ‘em anymore. They’re either gone or dead.”

  
“Let’s hope the former.” Prowl tested his doorwings. Still somewhat sore, but it was well within his acceptable limits. “Come on, we need to move.”

  
The pair began to move on, Jazz holding onto Prowls arm for guidance, when they heard it.

  
The low rumble of incoming aircraft.

  
Jazz heard more than saw Prowl stiften, doorwings jerking upwards so that they clattered against his back.

  
“Are we being attacked from the air?” His voice shook slightly.

  
“We need to get underground.” Jazz scrabbled at his visor, snapping it off of his face. His vision wasn’t perfect - far from it - but it was a damn sight better without a visor than it was with a shattered one. “And try and contact Iacon. Three guesses who’s payin’ us a visit.”

  
“No time to get underground,” Prowl was pushing him towards some rubble, likely intending to use it as a makeshift cover. “They’re here, get down!”

  
The two held onto each other as the ground shook and trembled, the buildings around them creaking ominously. The explosions sounded a lot more distant this time, but Jazz felt no comfort from the thought.

  
“There’s a radio tower, over there.” Prowl pointed, and Jazz squinted as he looked out to where he was pointing. In the distance he saw bright lights rising high into the sky - that had to be what he was pointing at. “You need to contact Iacon.”

  
“Wha’ about you?”

  
“I go and help.” He replied. “There should be someone to direct you to safety at the radio tower when you’re done.”

  
“Don’ do anythin’ stupid.”

  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Prowl helped him stand, brushing imaginary dust from him and holding his hands tight. Jazz simply watched him, worrying his bottom lip.

  
“Who else should Ah contact?” He eventually asked.

  
“Polyhex and Altihex are Autobot aligned and close by.” Prowl began going through a mental checklist. “ _They’re_ allied, but I suppose they wouldn’t want to get involved given they too are neutral...” he continued, more to himself than anyone else.

  
“Ah’m sure the fellas up at the tower have it figured out. Ah’ll just hail the Autobot frequencies.” He leaned up and pressed their forehelms together, shuttering his optics. “Good luck out there.”

  
“You too.” Prowl replied, gently nuzzling him back. He backed away, releasing his hold on Jazz’s hands as he surveyed his surroundings.

  
Looking out over the parts of the city he could see, Prowl knew that the likelihood of him coming out of this alive was slim. Smoke rose in thick plumes, and the hum of fliers overhead was starting to grow louder again - they were coming back. More bombs would be falling, and he had to go and help. His coding demanded it, as did his processor, his spark. He couldn’t just stand by and do _nothing_. Swallowing hard and taking a breath to steel his nerves, he turned around.

  
“Wait!” Prowl called out to Jazz, reaching forwards so as to grab his arm. Jazz turned around and closed the distance, reaching out and taking his hand.

  
“Wha’ is it?”

  
Fuck, he was so beautiful. Whomever got to spend the rest of their life with him was a lucky, lucky mech, and he envied them immensely.

  
Nothing else for it, he supposed. He gently caressed his face with his hands, taking a moment to take in all the details he possibly could before leaning in and kissing him.

  
Jazz’s vents hitched and he froze, hands stuck in mid air. Prowl would have scolded himself in any other circumstance, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not now. He needed to let himself have this moment.

  
“I’m sorry,” he said, their lips brushing together, “I’m in love with you.”

  
And with that, he pulled away and sprinted towards the smoke.

  
“Prowl!” Jazz shouted, Prowl skidding to a halt as he looked back at him. “If you die, Ah will never forgive you!”

  
Jazz watched as Prowl turned and continued to sprint away, transforming and speeding off as soon as he was able, siren blaring.

  
Stupid, stupid mech.

  
  


* * *

  
  
Prowl pressed his fingers to his lips, and if he offlined his optics and thought hard enough, he could almost imagine that Jazz was there again, and that he was kissing him.

  
For luck, he told himself. He needed it now more than ever.

  
The statistics from his battle computer were grim.

  
He had found a group of enforcers - he remembered them, and some he’d even trained - and was assisting them with their evacuation effort. They’d given him a map of all the shelters, and when they’d reached a point where they’d be okay without him, he sped away in search of others.

  
All the while the city exploded around him.

  
Numb. He felt numb. But it was the only thing that stopped him from completely shutting down on the spot and giving up, going down with his city.

  
He wondered where Bluestreak was. They were supposed to have been meeting up in another joor – he had mentioned that he was in his final lecture for the day before then, so they could meet in front of the university if they’d wanted. But, as Prowl stood before it, all that was left were smouldering ruins and molten metal. He didn’t want to get too close to the grey frames, just in case. He didn’t think he could handle it if he recognised any of them.

Aimlessly stumbling through the rubble, Prowl tried to ignore the way his frame throbbed. He’d been driving too fast, too recklessly, and had most likely burst at least one tire.

His comm unit crackled, and his doorwings perked up. Had they fixed the communications system? Was it someone hailing for help, someone who had been injured? The Autobots?

::Sunstreaker to Prowl, do you copy?::

::Copy::

::You’re needed back at the radio tower, they want you to help coordinate us::

::Who’s here?::

::Pssh. It’s easier to ask who _isn’t._ Whoever was in charge of taking out the radio tower didn’t do too great a job of it, but we’ve reserved it for ourselves and the emergency services so we can do our job. Thank Blaster later::

::I’ll thank him in person:: Prowl began jogging towards the radio tower, his frame an aching ball of pain. How long had he been out there for? He couldn’t see the sky, or the stars – he was relying on his headlights to see where he was going it was so dark.

::Hurry. We need you::

Prowl pushed himself just that bit harder.

The ground crackled and crunched under his feet, but he didn’t look. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t want to see. A dead frame there, a shattered crystal there. The remnants of an explosive that didn’t explode, and would need to be disabled later. He vaguely wondered if Jazz would be involved in that.

Ahead. Headlights.

“Hey!” He called out, doing his best to run a bit faster. “Stay there, I’m coming to help!”

“Prowl?!”

He recognised that voice, and some of the ache in his legs melted away.

“Bluestreak!”

“Oh- Prowl!” Bluestreak ran towards him, much faster, and almost slammed into him. He was shaking hard, plating clattering together, and crying even harder. Energon ran thickly down his arm. “What’s happening?!”

“I don’t know.” Prowl replied, holding him tight. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

“Something exploded on campus.” Bluestreak hiccuped. “I got hit by some of the… what do you call it? Projectile?” He hiccuped, wiping his face. “It doesn’t hurt any more.”

“Come on,” Prowl said, gently guiding him. “I’m going to the radio tower. There should be a medic there, they can get you looked at.”

“What about you?” Bluestreak sniffed. “You’re covered in energon.”

“I am fine.” Prowl lied. It was a half truth, he’d give himself that – some of it was his, yes, but most of it _wasn’t_. He didn’t want to provide Bluestreak the nightmare material.

They stumbled over fallen crystals and metal. So many buildings, gone. Prowl checked his pedometer, and if he had to guess, he’d take a stab at them being where the grand library once was. Smoke was thick in the air, and he could hear the crackling of flame, but he couldn’t see anything through the thick ash.

“I can’t believe it’s all gone.” Bluestreak quietly said, headlights illuminating what was left of a fountain, the fluid that fed it spilled out over the floor in a thick ashy sludge. Prowl squeezed his arm tighter.

“Just keep walking.”

They continued, walking down what was once a road. Prowl did his best to distract Bluestreak, and to will him to not look down, to keep looking up. It was hard to find things to talk about when the stench of death was thick and heavy in the air.

That had been a school. And there, across the street, a frozen energon parlour. He’d gone on a date there once. It wasn’t a good one, but at least the energon was good. It had been on his list of places to take Jazz, but now he only knew it was there because his map told him so. All that was left in its place was a pile of shredded metal.

More headlights. A faint gold shimmer.

Sunstreaker?

“Oi!”

Ah. _Sunstreaker_.

“It’s just me!” Prowl called back. “And a civilian!”

Sunstreaker jogged towards them. “They sent me just in case they decide to move in on foot.” He explained. “Not sure why. No one can see through this.” He glanced at Bluestreak. “Who’s this?”

“Bluestreak.” Prowl replied. “My younger brother.”

“Jazz mentioned you.” Sunstreaker looked at him with such an intense gaze that Bluestreak couldn’t help but shrink back. “I’m glad you found each other.”

“Thanks.”

“Come on, let’s move.” Sunstreaker beckoned for them to follow him. “I don’t like how quiet it’s been.”

“Maybe they left?” Bluestreak nervously suggested.

“Unlikely. Not the way they roll.” Sunstreaker sounded like he was frowning. “They’re waiting for something.”

“A change in wind direction.” Prowl began listing reasons off on his fingers. “Resupply. Locating something, possibly trying to find where we are, or where the temporary medical centres are. Or, they’re preparing something big.”

“Prowl!” Bluestreak whined.

“You’ll be fine so long as you stay with Sunstreaker.”

“Speaking of!” Sunstreaker reached into his subspace and pulled out a rifle. “This is yours. We figured you’d want it now.”

“Correct.” Prowl replied, accepting his acid rifle, holstering it onto his back.

“You. Can you shoot?” Sunstreaker looked at Bluestreak.

“Huh? Me? Uh, I mean, I _guess_ I can-”

Sunstreaker thrust another rifle into his hands. “Just in case. You don’t have to use it.”

Bluestreak held it as if it could go off at any second. “Uh, I mean-”

“Just holster it.” Prowl quietly said into his audial. “Make him happy, keeps him quiet.”

He obediently did as he was told.

The trio continued their journey through the remnants of the city of Praxus. Bluestreak kept his optics glued to Sunstreakers back, refusing to look away. Prowl had been right. He shouldn’t look at the ground.

Prowl was remaining vigilant, constantly looking around them, hands poised as though ready to grab his rifle at a moments notice. His doorwings twitched and flickered, trying to pick up any kind of information at all.

Both of the Autobot’s comm units crackled into life at the same moment, Blasters voice ringing out loud and clear.

::Second round, boys! Get to cover!::

“Frag-!” Sunstreaker swore, grabbing Bluestreak’s arm and breaking into a sprint for the nearest shape he guessed was some kind of solid structure. If it had survived so far, it would probably survive again.

“Language!” Prowl scolded, running behind them.

“Is now really the time?!”

“With my brother here, yes!”

“I have definitely heard you say worse, Prowl.” Bluestreak argued. “Come on, if we’re where I think we are there should be an archway we can hide under. It’s sturdy.”

Prowl let the two younger mechs go under first, sliding in behind them. It was partially buried under rubble, but it would do.

“This used to be an underpass.” Bluestreak quietly said to Sunstreaker while Prowl scanned the street in front of them. “I’d take it as a shortcut sometimes.”

A whistle of something flying overhead, and then a deafening boom, the dull thunk of material smacking the top of the passage echoing in the tunnel. Bluestreak held his hands over his audials and curled up into a small ball, doorwings flat against his back and shaking. Sunstreaker knelt down beside him, hand on his shoulder, while Prowl was trying to scrabble out of the tunnel.

“Prowl, what?!” Sunstreaker made to grab him and pull him back under, the sound of fliers still overhead, and with them, the threat of more.

“There’s someone out there!” Prowl yelled back, wriggling out. “I need to help them! Sunstreaker, you take Bluestreak to the radio tower. I will catch up.”

“Prowl, no!” Sunstreaker yelled after him, trying to crawl out after him. “Get back here!”

“That’s an order!”

“Prowl!”

Whistle.

Boom.

“Oh, you _dumbass_!” Sunstreaker loudly cursed. Bluestreak was trying his best to peer past Sunstreaker to see what was happening.

“Don’t.” Sunstreaker grabbed onto his arm and pulled him along, tugging him away from the end Prowl had just left from. “There’s no point. You can’t see anything. Too much dust.”

“But my brother-!”

“Will catch up with us.” Sunstreaker firmly replied. “You said you used this as a shortcut. Where does it end up?”

* * *

  
  
Well, _that_ had been a mistake and a half, Prowl belatedly thought as he lay face down on the floor. He couldn’t move, something heavy had him pinned. The last he remembered, something had smacked him on the back of the head. Hard. And he’d ended up face down on the floor, reeling.

Whomever he’d seen, whomever he’d heard screaming after the first explosion, he couldn’t find again. They were gone – whether they’d escaped by some other means, or if they were dead, Prowl simply didn’t know, and he was in no position to find out.

He tried his comm unit. Sunstreaker had to be nearby.

Broken. Literally – where it should be, Prowl was simply faced with a mess of sparking wires and torn metal.

What a pain.

His helm felt… weird. Like something wasn’t quite right. He his HUD was flooded with error messages – missing this, missing that, damages here, there, everywhere. He was well aware that his joints were being corroded – _that_ message had been there since the second wave of bombs fell and the ash started to get in them – and he was equally as aware that his doorwings were operating at limited capacity.

Apparently the main energon line in his left leg was suffering a major leak, but he couldn’t move to check, and even if he did, something was on top of him. Did something fall on him? Had the remnants of a building finally collapsed?

Black creeped in on the edge of his vision, and his thoughts became sluggish. Recharging sounded great about now. Maybe he’d wake up, and all of this would have been a terrible, terrible dream. He’d wake up, back in that lovely, warm, soft hotel bed with Jazz in his arms, and all would be well again.  
  


* * *

  
  


The lights were too bright.

Prowl wondered for a moment if he had woken back up in the well, and was about to be face to face with Primus themselves, but his optics quickly focused and the shape of the strip light above him came into view.

He was inside, at least.

He couldn’t feel _anything_. He knew he had a body. He could feel the weight of it, the pressure of it, but the pain in his frame, the deep ache, the sting of ash in his delicate mechanisms – gone. How long had he been out for? Had he been totally repaired? Had he been totally paralysed? Or was it simply because his processor hadn’t been on speaking terms with the rest of the components that resided inside his helm yet? He groaned, shuttering his optics against the bright light. It was too much.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” A voice to the side of him said. Prowl slowly turned to look. A blurry blue shape.

“Smokescreen?” Prowl croaked. His throat didn’t feel right. He began to push himself up. “Wh- Where’s Bluestreak? And Jazz? Where’s Jazz? Is he okay?”

“Bluestreak was back at the temporary base, last I saw him.” Smokescreen replied as he pushed Prowl back down again. “Don’t move, you’ll disturb the bandages.”

“And Jazz?”

“He _was_ at the temporary base helping Blaster deal with a cyber attack courtesy of Soundwave. As for where he is now, I don’t know. I saw him leave with some other Special Ops guys.”

Prowl tried to nod. He felt as though he’d completed the action, but it felt like a phantom, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d actually managed to do it.

“That was really stupid of you.” Smokescreen quietly said as Prowl made himself as comfortable as he could. “So, so stupid of you.”  
  
Prowl didn’t reply, silently staring at the ceiling.  
  
“You are _not_ an enforcer.” Smokescreen grit out. “You are an Autobot in neutral territory. You should have gone with Jazz and waited for permission.”  
  
“Mecha were dying.” Prowl quietly replied.  
  
“ _You should have waited_.”  
  
“And let them die?”  
  
“More are going to die as a consequence of your actions.” Smokescreen snapped back.  
  
“What do you mean?” Prowl began to sit up to look at his brother properly, frowning hard. The action pulled awkwardly, making the structure of his helm feel... flimsy.  
  
“Oh my Primus, stay _down_!” Smokescreen pushed him back down again. His expression fell. “What do _you_ mean? You cannot be serious right now.”  
  
“I am fully serious right now. What happened?”  
  
“I know you’re going to be tempted to try after I say this, but whatever you do, _don’t_.” Smokescreen warned him, scooting his chair closer. “Your battle computer-“  
  
Prowls optics flared as his hands shot up to his helm, Smokescreen immediately grabbed them and pulled them away. “What did I literally just say? Don’t touch it, don’t attempt to access it. Ratchet’s on his way.”  
  
“Does he know?”  
  
“He does now.”  
  
“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”  
  
“Not before he turns you into a most marvellous toaster.”  
  
Prowl groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. His arms felt abnormally tight and uncomfortable, but he wrote it down to damage to his neural circuit - he didn’t dare attempt to access anything past his base processing unit until Ratchet arrived. “Before you ask, I don’t regret it. I’d do it again.”  
  
“Didn’t doubt that for a single second.” Smokescreen replied. “How’s the pain?”  
  
“Am I hurt?”  
  
“They gave you good stuff, huh?” Smokescreen rested his chin in his hand. “You’re very hurt. I’m surprised you’re even moving, to be honest.”  
  
“I think I’m still in shock.” Prowl honestly replied. “Are my wings still there? I can’t feel them.”  
  
“Be glad you can’t. It’s going to be hell when the block wears off.”  
  
“You fill me with much confidence.”  
  
“Glad to help.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Ratchet had been very, very upset with the two for hiding Prowls battle computer from him, but to his credit he had only threatened to turn Prowl into a toaster. Smokescreen would continue to live his life as a microwave.  
  
“Did you get hit by a missile or something?” Ratchet asked as he delicately removed pieces of shrapnel from the back of Prowls helm. He needed Prowl awake to know if he’d dislodged or touched something he shouldn’t have, so he was doing his best to be gentle.  
  
“I think a building fell on me.” Prowl replied. “The memory is fuzzy.”  
  
Ratchet glanced up at Smokescreen who discretely nodded to confirm. Yup. Building.  
  
“What do you remember between now and the building falling on you?”  
  
“Nothing. I woke up, I spoke to Smokescreen, and we waited for you to arrive.”  
  
“Did he wake up before this time?” He asked Smokescreen.  
  
“Not that I know of.” Smokescreen honesty replied. “I wasn’t the one to find him, you’d have to ask Ironhide. I only knew he was here because Ironhide spotted me.”  
  
“Have you seen Jazz?” Prowl asked, doorwings twitching. He winced, pure fire spreading over his back. “Aahh...”  
  
“Did I hurt you?” Ratchet froze.  
  
“No, my wings. Jazz?”  
  
“I haven’t seen him.” Ratchet replied as he continued. “But I’m sure someone has. I’ll ask around.”

Ratchet continued on in silence, every so often asking Prowl a question about something random. How many planets existed in their solar system? Who was their Prime? Who was his superior officer?

“That’s as best as I can do, I think.” Ratchet finally said over a joor later. “Would you like me to give you a run through of your injuries before you try and use your battle computer?”

“Please.” Prowl said, wincing as he rolled back onto his back again. He _hated_ being on his front around other people.

“I’m sure you’ve already noticed this one, but a damaged optic-”

Prowl’s hand flew up instinctively to prod the hole. No luck – it’d already been bandaged – but the news felt like a bucket of cold water all the same. He hadn’t noticed at all.

Ratchet continued as if Prowl hadn’t reacted. “- Your left leg is extremely mangled, it may be easier to just remove it and rebuild it from scratch, but I’ll have to have a chat with Wheeljack about that. We’ll have to replace all of your tires, you’ve worn them so thin that the nurse who admitted you could see his fingers through the rubber, and three of them have ripped to shreds. Doorwings are broken, some of your internals may need further surgery, I wont bother you with the details right now as I am sure I will be repeating myself later, when you’re more coherent. Would you like the rest?”

“That’s enough, thank you.” Prowl quietly replied. There was _more_?!

“The short version of it, is that you look like a building fell on top of you.” Ratchet continued. “Rest up. You’ll need all the energy you can get.” He made himself comfortable in another chair, Smokescreen nervously watching him over his datapad.

“Would you still like me to use my battle computer?” Prowl asked.

“Only if you feel ready.” Ratchet replied. “I don’t know what will happen, but crashing is in the realm of possibilities. Jetfire and Perceptor are currently looking into it back in Iacon, so we may have to wait until we return to Iacon to bring you back online if you are to crash. Is this acceptable?”

“I don’t think I can go that long without using it.” Prowl admitted. “It’s second nature.”

“Then by all means, when you are ready.”

Prowl took a deep breath, and attempted to access it.

Hot, blinding pain. He wasn’t sure if he screamed or not, but he clutched his helm and squeezed his optic shut. It felt like it was splitting in half, hot magma erupting from his temple and bleeding down his face, sparks spitting away inside of him-

Black. Dark. Quiet. Silent.

It was slow to come back around again. One by one, he felt his systems online. He felt the sting of his joints, the deep ache in his struts, an intense itch across his externals. His throat hurt. His helm hurt. His left optic ached.

Slowly, he onlined his optic. A blue blur to the right of him – Smokescreen was still there. A white and red blur next to him. Ratchet. He hadn’t been out for too long, then. Perhaps just a few seconds.

But there was an unfamiliar weight on his left side, and he couldn’t properly see them. White, and black.

Who…?

Sound slowly started coming back. Smokescreen and Ratchet were talking about something.

“He’s coming back online.” someone said, Ratchet suddenly standing and coming over to him.

“Prowl? How are you feeling?”

“How long was I out for?” He groggily asked, his body feeling foreign and heavy.

“A few joors.” Ratchet replied. “You’re lucky I happened to be checking in on you.”

“I accessed it.” Prowl slowly said, words leaving like thick, sticky honey. “I feel strange.”

“You’re heavily drugged. Are you able to use it?”

“I...” Prowl searched inside of himself for the answer. Yes? He could see it. It responded to him, and when he ran test scenarios, they were processed just fine. So far, so good. “I can. I will need more time to be sure.”

“Good. Smokescreen, if there are any changes, I want you to comm me immediately. I need to go and help the others.”

“Sure. Good luck.”

“Good luck.” Prowl slurred.

“I’ll give you two a moment alone.” Smokescreen stood and left, standing just outside of the door. Prowl could vaguely see the shadow of his doorwing in the glass panel of the doors window.

“Two?” Prowl asked to the empty room, far too late to get a reply from Smokescreen.

“Did ya not notice me?” the mysterious mech to the left teased. Prowl would know that voice anywhere.

“Jazz?!” He jerked, face almost splitting in two from excitement. His spark leapt in his chest, threatening to burst free, and his helm began to ache- His face suddenly fell. There was a tight pressure at the back of his helm, and it felt as though it were about to burst.

“Oh, no.”

Black. Dark. Quiet.

A cool hand on his face. A quiet voice.

Prowl onlined his optic to be face to face with Jazz again. “Are ya okay?” Jazz nervously asked.

“I think I crashed again.”

“You did.” Ratchet was back, typing a few things into a datapad. He unhooked himself from Prowl’s medical port with a smirk on his face. “From excitement. Don’t excite him too much, Jazz.”

“Sorry~”

“Try not to do that again, Prowl.” Ratchet warned with a pointed stylus. “I’m meant to be five wards away right now.”

“I will do my best.” Prowl promised.

“Aaand I’ll be outside again!” Smokescreen awkwardly continued, pointedly looking at how Jazz was leaning over Prowl, one hand delicately on his cheek, one knee resting against the medical berth.

“They said a building fell on ya.” Jazz quietly said after the door closed.

“Yes.” Prowls hand twitched, but the arm wouldn’t respond to his commands to move.

“Ah’m so glad ya okay.” Jazz’s bottom lip wobbled, and it only registered then that it looked like he’d been crying. “We all thought ya’d deactivated.”

“You’d never forgive me if I did that, remember?”

“Stupid mech.” Jazz laughed, but it was watery. He pressed their forehelms together, optics shuttering.

“Your visor.” Prowl frowned. “You didn’t replace it?”

“No time. It can wait.” Jazz moved to be sat back down again, holding Prowls hand. “How’re ya feelin’?”

“Weird.” Prowl turned his helm to look at Jazz properly. He didn’t want to take his optics off of him, not now, not ever. Just the simple act of looking at him made him feel so much better, so much lighter. The dark cloud of the previous cycle didn’t seem so heavy and ominous with Jazz at his side.

“Prowler...” Jazz’s face had changed to a very pretty shade of pink, and he was hiding his face in Prowls hand. Oh, no, had he said that all aloud?!

“Hrk-!”

Black. Dark. Quiet.

“Again?!” Prowl yelled when he came to. Jazz was still there, laughing into his hands. Smokescreen was exasperated in the doorway, glaring between the two.

“Stop it! Stop it now! Ratchet’s going to be so cross!”

“Ah’ll ping him about it this time, how about tha’?” Jazz replied, playing with Prowls digits. “Ah think we’re done, anyway. Ya can sit in an’ make sure we stay on appropriate topics.” Jazz winked.

“Please don’t make me regret being born.”

* * *

They returned to Iacon as soon as everyone was stable enough to be moved. Ratchet and the Protectobots stayed behind longer to assist the neutrals, but within a decacycle Ratchet had returned to help with the Autobot injured. Within another two, the Protectobots had returned too.

Prowl had stopped crashing so frequently. He learned his tells – a pressure at the back of his helm, a bubbling feeling behind his optics, a sudden inability to talk – and how to negate the effects of them. It had been a work in progress with Jazz, too, the mech doing his best to notice any physical clues as to when Prowl was about to crash. He hadn’t left his side since finding him at the hospital.

They hadn’t spoken about the kiss, or Prowls confession. Prowl wondered if he should bring it up, to rip off the plaster sooner rather than later, but the thought made him feel like someone had shoved a balloon into his helm, so he held off. His courage had only lasted so long. Now the threat of imminent death wasn’t looming over him, it had totally abandoned him.

Figures.

Jazz absently pruned a crystal while Prowl lay on his belly in his berth, doorwings twitching. They itched so terribly, but he couldn’t scratch them. As much as he hated being on his front, if he were on his back, he’d unconsciously wiggle in order to scratch them. He did his best to focus on the datapad instead of the persistent itch.

“Blue seems to be settlin’ in nicely.” Jazz said, placing the crystal to the side. He fiddled with a piece of removed crystal. “He’s trainin’ up to be a sharpshooter.”

“A sharpshooter?” Prowl hummed. “That suits him. He doesn’t like physical confrontation.”

“He’s good.”

“He used to shoot us with a toy gun.” Prowl offlined his datapad and rested his chin in his hand as he recalled the memory. “The ones with the foam bullets. It was the only way he could ever win when we fought.”

“Ya used to fight?”

“Playfight.” Prowl corrected himself. “Two teenagers and a child in a flat alone together? Of course we were going to be silly.”

“Tha’s so cute...” Jazz sighed.

“I am fairly certain if you were to put those two into the holodecks together, they’d wind up turning on each other.”

“And you?”

“I would design the scenario they’d fight each other in.”

“Such an instigator.” Jazz teased. He glanced at Prowls wings. “Are they itchy? They’re twitchin’ a lot.”

“Very itchy.”

“Hold still. Ah think Ah can help.” Jazz climbed up onto the berth, swinging his leg over Prowls hips and straddling his back.

“You can’t scratch them, they won’t heal properly-”

“Ah wont, don’t worry.” Jazz assured him. “Ah just did some readin’ and apparently magnetic pulses help.”

“You’re more than welcome to try.” Prowl replied, making himself comfortable and folding his arms under his helm. He’d take any kind of relief at this point.

The initial slide of Jazz’s hand at the hinges was _unbearable_ , but not even a second later had a cool wave of relief flooded over his sensors. He instantly relaxed into the berth, offlining his optic.

Jazz continued, gently sliding his hands over his wings, releasing magnetic pulses and soothing the itch. When Prowl felt bold enough, he asked if Jazz wouldn’t mind doing the other side.

So Prowl rolled over, presenting the other side of his wings, and Jazz settled himself down at his waist, leaning forwards and continuing -

But their optics locked, and they suddenly realised in unison just what a position they’d put themselves into.

Prowl refused to draw attention to it, keeping his hands resolutely at his sides. Jazz, however, shifted to place his hands either side of Prowl’s helm.

“Can Ah ask somethin’, Prowler?”

“What is it?” He asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“What ya said in Praxus. Before we separated. Did ya mean it?”

Ooooh noooo. The decision had been ripped from his hands, and Prowl supposed it was his own fault for not breeching the topic earlier on his own terms. Now he was being asked while the object of his affections was straddling his hips, leaning over him so that they were inches away at _most_. How mortifying it must be for Jazz.

“I did.”

“So ya won’t mind if I do this, then.” Jazz leaned down and gently kissed him, as if he were afraid of shattering him like glass.

“No,” Prowl purred, reaching up to caress the back of Jazz’s helm. “Not one bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, there would have been more of that delicious obliviousness! As in, Prowl unsure if Jazz feels the same way back and is just being polite by not saying anything, and Jazz not wanting to say anything back lest he causes Prowl to majorly crash/not wanting to say anything too soon that may impede Prowls recovery. However, I do not have the luxury of milking it as effectively, so enjoy the instant gratification instead ;)  
> There’s also another idea I had where Bluestreak and Jazz met at the hospital rather than the radio tower whilst trying to find Prowl, which is more just a short conversation that’s in my notes. I can post that if people are interested (+ the notes around it just so it doesn’t absolutely explode like this one did, aaahh)


End file.
